What happened to all the words
I did not cherish well?
The utterance stilled into substance,
cast aside with slight of hand.

Did they recoil from the stony wall,
slip discreetly out through open door
to join with lively starling
feasting on my neighbour's lawn?
Or take shelter under the
billowing thicket of hawthorn?

I wouldn't blame them.

Were they snatched away by crimson kite,
hooked on claw and hauled through gauzy sky?
Or warrened deep into dusken burrow
lined thin with the tender anticipation
of kit and kin?

Oh how I wish it were so!

For then I would not feel their settlings 
weighing stout upon my shoulders,
winkling through my wind-chapped skin,
nesting into my veins.

Sticks and stones may
split my bone;
but unrequited words
tarry on my breath.